After leaving Kani at the Hmong village last night, I slowly walked back down the dirt road with my head full of thoughts of what it would be like to live in the village in a wooden shack with a dirt floor and a thatched roof. I can't imagine a life like that; it's just so different from anything I have known before.
By the time I reached the hotel, the sun had set and the festival across the street was going on full blast. If there is one word to describe festivals in this part of the word, it would have to be "loud". I was sure there would be a lot of Beer Lao drinking going on as well, but first I needed some dinner.
My hotel is located next to a big lake where the boat racing was taking place during the day, and its restaurant is right next to the water. It makes for a very scenic, rustic place to have a meal. I sat down alone with my thoughts of life in a wooden hut and ordered some noodle soup and a Beer Lao. It wasn't long, though, before I was joined by a couple of Lao men who had been celebrating the festival for quite some time. In other words, they were drunk.
In general, Lao people are friendly, and after a few Beer Lao they are even more friendly. They were both engineers from the capital of Vientiane, and were doing work in Vieng Xai. "I built this road!" one of them proudly told me. "Two Million US dollars. Look at the sidewalks. I designed this road. Before, only dirt!"
They insisted that I come to join them at the festival. As one of them told me, "We drink beer with district chief. The chief he welcome all foreigner to Vieng Xai. Everyone welcome Vieng Xai. You drink beer with district chief. You can not say no to village chief!"
And even though I would be saying no to a couple of drunk Lao guys and not to the District Chief, I decided to go anyway. So I finished my soup and the three of us walked down the beautiful two million dollar road with sidewalks (which we did not use).
When we got to the party I was sat at a table of about ten Lao adults, right next to the village chief. Everyone at the table (except the chief, I think) had been drinking for quite some time, so it was a very festive atmosphere, with several of the Lao ladies professing their love for me and their husbands telling me not to worry, as no one is serious during the festival time.
The District Chief did welcome me, and even though my country was responsible for bombing his village for years many decades ago, he wanted all foreigners to feel comfortable in Vieng Xai, and he hoped that other countries would learn about this area and that the governments would invest in the infrastructure so that even more people could come visit this beautiful place.
The District Chief eventually had to leave the party to go to the main stage that was set up to address the crowd. My drunk engineering friend told me that the governor of the province was here as well, along with his body guards. I asked why he needs guards and a very curious reply came back. He basically said something along the lines of: Unlike Thailand, Lao people love peace. There is never any fighting in Laos, like there is in Thailand right now. No one tries to fight the government. Lao people love peace. If there is anyone who wants to fight the government, they will disappear in one hour. And they will never be found again. Peace is the most important thing to the Lao people.
After a few more rounds of Beer Lao, I was finally able to say my good byes and pull myself away from the table (to much protesting by the locals) and walked back through the festival to my hotel. On the way back, I stopped by a stage that had been set up for a traditional Lao dancing contest. Several groups performed, and their colorful costumes and rhythmic graceful dance was hypnotizing.
It isn't often that I feel completely out of place or feel like I am in another world, but I did tonight. It was the combination of visiting a family who lived in a dirt-floor wooden shack, but still shared food with me when I entered their home, to the engineers who were so proud of their newly paved road and so proud of their Communist government, to the the District Chief who worried about the development of his village, mindful of the ghosts of the past, yet hopeful for the future. All of these images swirled through my head as the colorful dancers slowly slid across the stage, and stayed with me until I finally drifted to sleep under my mosquito net.
(This entry describes my experiences on the night of October 11, 2008.)